


Forbidden fascination

by firstamazon



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Erotica, Fëanárion brothers appear briefly, Fëanárion worship, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Open Relationships, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valinor, but this fic is not about them, or not wholly about them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26708074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstamazon/pseuds/firstamazon
Summary: Findekáno is obsessed with his uncle.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingon | Findekáno
Comments: 14
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ann_arien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann_arien/gifts).



> To my dear friend Ann_arien, who gives me so many incredible ideas and has made me crave for so many kinks – Fëanor/Fingon is just the most urgent (and using her own prompt). As we patiently wait for her to pick up her drama-smutverse, I decided there needed to be a complete, very smutty (perhaps a bit angsty?) story of these two. This is supposed to take place exactly before her chapter [Full Brother in Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/739176/chapters/1399496). 
> 
> This sure doesn’t do justice to your fabulous writing, dear, but I hope you like it <3
> 
> PS: Regarding Fëanor, I tried as hard as I could to find a middle ground between my Prince of Misunderstanding™ and your Drama King™ - you’ll let me know if it worked.

Findekáno didn’t know how to proceed. It was not that he had suddenly stopped being attracted by his cousin. No, Maitimo would always be his first and only love. But this was not the first time he woke up from a dream, hard and panting, covered in sweat – and what was worse! - thinking about his uncle Fëanáro.

Findekáno knew he had reached an age – past his majority – in which most elves were already supposed to have begotten children. He should, too. At least, that was what his mother expected him to, even though his father (thankfully) made no pressure. In any case, the only person he would ever marry would be Maitimo; there was not a shadow of a doubt about it! He daydreamed of when they would finally join their souls. During the night, however, his mind strayed elsewhere…

The latest cause for his affliction had happened during his last stay in Formenos. Findekáno had seen his uncle clad in all types of garments: ceremonial robes that made him look every bit like the Crown Prince he was – fairest of the Noldor race –, in his everyday working clothes, covered in soot and grease and splashes of ink, and even in naught but his skin. On those rare latter occasions, he had marveled at the perfection of his uncle’s body, skin of chiseled marble, the vales that sculpted his stomach and the underlying power of those muscles, his broad back, and powerful arms – and still, he was lean like an athlete.

But he had been younger then, not yet awakened by furious hunger, and in those days, he merely imagined if he would one day have a complexion like that. It was only after he had known Maitimo’s body intimately that he discovered true beauty. Of course, Findekáno grew up to be different than the Fëanárion side of his family – he was broader and a little shorter than his uncle (and, consequently, a head shorter than Maitimo). Still, Findekáno had a fine body of his own, and he took not a little pride in how the sight of it would make maidens swoon. Nothing of it mattered, however, if his body didn’t stir the deepest and most savage need from his beloved.

However, what Findekáno witnessed that last summer in Formenos had affected him profoundly. He remembered that day perfectly like it was yesterday. He had been locked up in Maitimo’s chambers, trying to focus on the book his cousin had asked him to read – something about helping him with dialects and diplomacy, neither of which were Findekáno’s best, or even favored, subjects. His eyes darted from the book in his hands to where Maitimo laid sprawled in the grass outside, right underneath his window. His cousin had said he preferred to read in the open and alone, so neither would disturb the other. And it was true that, whenever Maitimo decided to work or study with him, neither were able to concentrate, the other’s body and mouth seemingly so much more worthy of attention.

Findekáno was taken from his reverie by a loud bang coming from the end of the corridor – his uncle’s chambers. He thought it strange, for Fëanáro rarely left the forge during the day and never to go back inside the house. Somewhere deep inside his mind, Findekáno remembered feeling even a little worried, wondering if something had happened to his extraordinary uncle. Gained over by curiosity, he had left his working place and tip-toed, bared-feet, to the chamber that had once belonged to his aunt and uncle – and was now used by Fëanáro alone.

He was only supposed to check if his uncle needed any help and go back to Maitimo’s room – he hadn’t planned any of what happened later. Lying awake in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat, Findekáno thought more clearly: his uncle probably had imagined being alone in the house, for no other noise came from within. And that much was true: Macalaurë was in Alqualondë for at least another week, teaching music, and his other cousins had gone hunting a day before and weren’t expected to be back for another two or three days.

The door to Fëanáro’s chamber was ajar, so Findekáno peeked inside, only to make sure everything was alright, he had naively said to himself. But the sight that greeted him made him stagger, mind going blank with shock. His uncle was naked – and not only that but fully roused. A faint scent of herbs and soap engulfed Findekáno, and he knew Fëanáro was (gloriously) fresh out of the bath, hair unbound like a black cloud. Against his will, Findekáno’s eyes focused on the tiny droplets of water that clung to the other’s skin, making it glow with a sheen layer over firm muscles and sinews.

Fëanáro paced the chamber impatiently, back and forth, like a caged panther. He ran a nervous hand on his hair. Findekáno immediately recognized the pattern: something was nagging insistently on his uncle’s mind. Indeed, Fëanáro muttered something under his breath that Findekáno couldn’t fully understand – but he did catch a string of low curses. And the only person that could take mind-driven Fëanáro out of his work with such imprecations was his own father. But that couldn’t be! Fëanáro and Nolofinwë didn’t see eye-to-eye, and there was not a chance his uncle would be in such distress – and with an iron-hard erection – for the half-brother he despised.

As if coming to a decision, Fëanáro moved energetically to the bed and positioned himself quickly on the pillows, the silky sheets tangled on his ankles. He grabbed something in the drawer of his night table with brusque movements; he didn’t seem to mind the noise when he closed it with a loud bang. He seemed… careless? Something his uncle definitely was not. Roughly, Fëanáro opened the flask in his hands and started pouring over his arms and legs with sure movements. The scent of cinnamon and spices filled the room and reached Findekáno’s nostrils. 

Fëanáro’s limbs glistered with the oily content, and Findekáno was caught in fascinating observance. Before he could think of anything else, Fëanáro raised the flask above his chest and let oil drip over his heated skin – from far away, Findekáno thought his uncle’s flesh must be burning, or else why would he moan softly when the trail ran down the vales of his stomach and pooled on his navel? More slowly and with eyes half-closed, Fëanáro rubbed the oil on his chest, running both hands over his pectorals, massaging muscles paying special care to the hard nipples. The hands moved down, down, down until…

Findekáno could barely suppress a gasp. He had watched for far longer than he should have! What was he thinking? He should leave- no, he should have left already! That wasn’t something he – or anyone – should spy on! His throat was but a parched thing, tongue thick and big in his mouth. To his growing horror and utter shame, his body had responded far more enthusiastically than he had expected. Never in his life had he imagined to see his uncle thus, so beautifully sprawled, igniting a thousand lewd images in his mind.

Vaguely, he had wondered why Fëanáro was alone. He had dozens of apprentices who would give a limb in offering to be the ones worshiping that body; surely he could find relief with one of them? But then, that was just who Fëanáro was: proud and self-sufficient. He wouldn’t care if there was or not someone to do it for him, or if someone might storm into his room and catch him in the act – and that thought alone made Findekáno’s own length pulse with anticipation. No, his uncle would do as he pleased, as he always did.

And oh, how it pleased him! Fëanáro moved his hand up and down, slowly at first, but increasing speed gradually. His hips jerked slightly up to match the rhythm, and as a throaty groan accompanied the frantic tugging, Findekáno let out a ragged sigh that probably could have been heard in Tirion – how his uncle hadn’t, it was beyond him. His fingernails had dug into the wood, scratching splinters underneath it, and he was, unconsciously, rubbing his own strained erection through linen. It was too much! Findekáno was beginning to spill, and every other thought left him as sheer need roared in his ears.

At last, Fëanáro threw his head back, voicing a groan as seed painted a wet track on the valleys of his perfectly sculpted, oil-smeared stomach. Fëanáro’s stunning beauty taken over by ecstasy was Findekáno’s breaking point. To his absolute horror – and pleasure – his mind blanked as he was brought to a shattering orgasm. Breathless, it took his consciousness a moment to return. When it did, a while later, the wrongness of his doing struck him with full force. By the Valar, he had spied on his uncle – Maitimo’s father! – and was left scorched, his senses reeling with the same intensity as his length that still throbbed dully with the aftershocks.

Findekáno ran back to Maitimo’s chambers with shaky legs. His trousers were sticky, and how in the hells would he explain to his cousin he needed a new pair? Thankfully, Maitimo was still in the same position as before, lying obliviously in the grass. Findekáno tried to calm his stupefied mind. It did little avail because, after that, all he could think of was his magnificent uncle. He eventually came up with some stupid excuse: he had stained his trousers with ink, of course, and had to borrow one from the only cousin that was closer to him in height. He had jogged to Macalaurë’s chambers and took which would suit him best; the soiled one he folded inside his bag to be taken care of when he returned to the palace.

The rest of that day was ruined as his clothes had been. The book was entirely forgotten, the lore, all he and Maitimo had discussed for the last couple of weeks had been burned away by the fire that raged behind his closed lids. Findekáno had, indeed, returned that very day to the palace, making up another excuse that his father needed him. His cousin, the most wonderful Elf in all Arda, understood everything and never questioned his decision.

Findekáno needed his time alone, away from temptation – both of them! And now it had been months since he had last seen Maitimo as the pile of excuses mounted up. His cousin was beginning to suspect something was wrong. Findekáno wanted nothing more than to drown his desires in Maitimo’s well-built body, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t _not_ tell his cousin what had happened! Which left him in a crossroads.

Findekáno feared what Maitimo would say, feared to enrage and upset him. They weren’t shy to express desire for others and had even discussed with whom they would take their pleasures if not with each other – Findaráto was always the best candidate for them, both alone and shared. But this was Maitimo’s father, Valar be damned, not a pretty face! Or, at least, not _only_ a pretty face.

Now, late at night and bathed in Telperion’s glow, Findekáno shook his head at all that. He needed to talk to Maitimo and explain everything, even if that meant… even if… no, no, no. Let’s not think ahead of things. If he explained correctly, Maitimo would understand. His beloved was the best person in the world, and Findekáno didn’t mean any of that to happen. It just did. And everyone praised Fëanáro for how beautiful he was… surely Maitimo would agree with him, protective as the Fëanárions all were of one another, and understand his forbidden fascination.

Resolved, Findekáno returned to bed – even if sleep eluded him – and decided he would ride to Formenos again as morn came.


	2. Chapter 2

Findekáno had decided to stop by the market before he went to Formenos. He could buy the honey cakes and sparkling wine Maitimo liked so much from the pastries shop – and it did sound like he was going to start apologizing even before any explanations were made. But he bought them nonetheless, for Findekáno also loved to watch Maitimo get his fingers sticky with honey only to lick them clean. 

Going to the markets was also a way of getting his mother and father off his back. There was nothing suspicious with a stroll in the city square, and his father wouldn’t bristle in jealousy that he spent more time in Fëanáro’s company than his own. 

Fëanáro… Findekáno’s breath would catch in his lungs anytime his uncle’s name was mentioned. His mind was still, irrevocably, pulled towards that naked, splendid body whenever he let his mind drift. As it happened, he carried two bags of groceries, thinking about honey cakes and cinnamon oil when a call made him nearly drop the purchases onto the ground.

“Finno! Over here!” Maitimo waved and smiled at him from the other side of the square, across the Aulë and Yavanna fountain. 

Not that his cousin needed to call attention: he was a more than a head taller than most people, and his coppery hair easily stood out in a crowd. Findekáno couldn’t help smiling and waving in return. Maitimo was so handsome in his dark-green robes, and his smile was a stopper wherever he went. As Findekáno approached his cousin, he realized with a start that Maitimo was not alone. Tyelkormo was there and, by his side, obviously, Atarinkë – who even married was inseparable from his older brother. But they were not the reason Findekáno’s heart raced and his hands felt suddenly sweaty.

Looking at precious gems, there was the very same person who dominated his dreams and wild fantasies of late. His uncle, clad in simple red and gold, was more eye-catching than the play of Laurelin’s rays on his raven hair. Findekáno moistened his dry lips and let go of a shuddering breath before Maitimo’s arms circled his shoulders.

“What are you doing in the market, coz?” Maitimo asked in his mellow voice. “I thought you would be sleeping at this time of day!”

“Well, yes, I would…” Findekáno answered sheepishly. “But I had decided to ride to Formenos today. I wanted to see you.”

Tyelkormo and Atarinkë, who had been busy analyzing leather garments, turned to him as one – the first had a smug smile on his face, and the latter, a raised brow. Findekáno knew at once he had said too much, and he felt heat spreading on his neck and cheeks. His cousins didn’t know of his relationship with Maitimo, but he might as well scream for everyone else to hear after that statement. 

“Hello, little cousin,” Tyelkormo smirked, to his great annoyance – for Findekáno was merely a few years younger – in a sing-song voice and with a grin that split his handsome face in two. “Our brother was getting desperate that he wouldn’t be able to search for you in the palace.”

“Most desperate,” Atarinkë said with his usually serious face. “We had even considered sending Grandfather a note because he couldn’t stop talking about it all morning.”

“Shut up, you two,” Maitimo rolled his eyes, but he too was smiling. “You can ride back with us, Finno. Atar is almost done, aren’t you?”

He added that last part with a sterner voice, which made Fëanáro raise a finger asking for one more minute without turning around – he was engrossed discussing the gem’s properties with the vendor. Findekáno snorted. It was always amusing when his beloved played father to his own father. Eru only knew how much Fëanáro needed Maitimo’s clear mind to lead when he was too lost within his brilliant genius – and Maitimo did much more than that, being the bridge that prevented both their houses from jumping in each other’s throats. 

The shocking thought came to his mind with the unstoppable force of a tsunami: that white throat bared to him, and his nose buried in uncle’s hair, biting his neck and tasting Fëanáro’s musky sweat upon his tongue.

“Findekáno, are you alright?”

Findekáno nearly jumped out of his skin when his uncle addressed him, and he realized he had been biting his lower lip with enough force he had drawn blood. All eyes fell on him – oh how he wanted to slap that knowing smirk out of Tyelkormo’s face! Thank the Valar, his cousin had no idea what – nor whom – he was _really_ thinking about.

Fëanáro’s eyes, brighter than the Mingling, enveloped his entire being, and he couldn’t think properly. He felt his thoughts being scrambled and picked up again with a sharp stick. Before long, he realized he still hadn’t given his uncle an answer, so he nodded vigorously, biting his lower lip again, unconscious that his eyes insisted on the inviting spot where Fëanáro’s shirt had unlaced and exposed the smooth, creamy flesh of his collarbone. Findekáno thought he could smell cinnamon from where he stood, and that thought made him lower and shut his eyes with a mix of shame and desperate need.

When Findekáno had somehow mastered his thoughts, he looked up again, face burning, and he knew what a sight he must be. Maitimo observed him with a tilted head and a glint in his eyes. Of course, his beloved would know at once whenever Findekáno was aroused. And for Eru’s sake, his shaft had swollen to an aching point! There was absolutely no way Maitimo wouldn’t notice it, even if the produces he was carrying hid the obvious evidence of his desire.

“Boys, will you please retrieve the sack of grains with Tiliel? She has separated it for us, and it’s time we leave,” Findekáno heard his uncle say in his low voice, and he was thankful, for it was two pairs less of eyes to witness his outrageous display.

Worried and struggling to keep composure, Findekáno missed the long look Fëanáro and Maitimo exchanged.

“Say, Finno,” Maitimo began, and, as soon as his cousin’s eyes were on him, he pretended to have noticed just now how his father’s shirt had come undone. He stepped forward, deliberately lacing it back again, while Fëanáro raised his eyebrows, not hiding his amusement. “You never answered my question. What are you doing in the markets?”

With his peripheral vision, Maitimo saw Findekáno blush from head to toes, eyes glued to where his fingers slightly brushed Fëanáro’s skin. Maitimo didn’t even have to hide his enormous, satisfied smile as his beautiful cousin seemed at a loss for words. He looked at him in full, then, which startled Findekáno even further.

“I, uh… I bought these,” he stammered, looking down at his own arms as if to make sure they were still there, although clumsy and stiff. “For you- I mean, for us,” he corrected himself, blushing even more and shaking his head minutely. “I know how much you like honey cakes.”

“You are so kind, dear cousin,” Maitimo grinned, long fingers casually caressing Fëanáro’s exposed skin. “I am sure atar will love them too.” He turned his mithril-gray eyes to Fëanáro once more, noticing with delight how Findekáno’s throat bobbed up and down. He had to press his lips in a thin line to keep from laughing.

“Alright, enough with you,” Fëanáro chided, squatting Maitimo’s hand away gently. “We tarried here long enough,” he glanced around, and for a minute, Findekáno thought he looked anxious. 

Of what? Meeting someone he didn’t want to? There was only one person Fëanáro dreaded and hated to meet – and as Findekáno was thrown back (again) to that fateful day, he understood that this was the same someone whom his uncle strongly yearned for. He exhaled in a shuddering breath when Fëanáro’s eyes fell on his two other cousins, and they finally started walking towards the city gates, where they had left the horses.

Tyelkormo, despite being the one carrying a sack of grain on one muscular shoulder, was the first to reach them, and he tossed the load over the wagon. Findekáno’s heart sank a little with the thought that their journey would be slowed by it – which meant they would probably spend the rest of the day on the road. He groaned inward. He wouldn’t be left alone with Maitimo to explain the dreadful situation he was in, only worsened by the prohibitive sight and smell of his uncle riding next to him, disheveled by the wind, imposing and more glorious than the Valar themselves.

They rode as fast as the wheels of the wagon allowed, and Findekáno didn’t rise to the bait of his cousins’ banter – although both Tyelkormo and Atarinkë tried very hard. Later, he thought it would have been better if he had responded _something_ , for his unexplainable sullenness was most suspicious. Yet, he couldn’t make himself cheerful, not when Maitimo’s eyes were so frequently on him as if sensing something was wrong. Findekáno beat himself up the entire way until they finally discerned Formenos in the distance.

His plans of having some alone time with Maitimo were spoiled, for as soon as they arrived, all the brothers started making supper. He had no choice but to help. His cousins’ voices resounded in their usual ruckus, and they all started to shout, provoke, and laugh at each other. Things escalated when Pityo threatened Tyelkormo with a food fight, the half-eaten apple he inconsiderately threw hit Carnistir in the face, and all three ended up tangled in the ground with growls and bites probably better suited for the woods – like the beasts they were – not the kitchen. Telvo didn’t help when he raised a knife and screamed at the top of his lungs for them to stop messing around and help.

“Yet another normal day in Fëanáro’s house…” he said with a smile on his face. His cousins’ bearish behavior didn’t surprise him at all. But as he said it, a soft, lush voice came from far too close behind him.

“How is a day in my house, Nolofinwëion?”

Findekáno froze. His eyes widened at the patronymic, and he whirled to see his uncle staring down at him. There was the shadow of a smile on his lips and a glint of kindness in his eyes. Still, it was enough for him to swallow the dry lump around his throat forcefully.

“Unpredictable?” He muttered, trying to keep the humor for which he was known for.

Fëanáro’s eyes burned on him for a moment longer, until his lips twitched, and he chuckled low, a sensuous sound that speared through Findekáno’s entire body and thrummed all the way down to his groin. He had to suppress the shiver that made his hair stand up as that ridiculous, sultry mouth spread into a dizzying grin that took his breath away.

His uncle was saying something about the unpredictability of his prole, and his sons laughed out loud at his remark, but Findekáno missed it completely, entirely focused on the closeness of their bodies and the _heat_ that emanated from him. His head spun, and he felt faint. He desperately needed to sit down. Fortunately, Maitimo came to his aid and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Come, Finno,” his cousin guided him to the table with a too-knowing smile, and Findekáno wondered what could possibly be so funny.

Maitimo’s unruly brothers would never stop teasing him if they found out about them – and a little voice inside his head said _when, not if_ – but Findekáno knew they would never forgive him for even allowing himself to be affected thus by their own father. As for Fëanáro, he extended a hand to help Pityo up from where he lay laughing on the ground and walked around the table to sit down beside Findekáno with an insouciant attitude.

With his uncle by his left, at the head of the table, and Maitimo by his right – and with an apparently bottomless glass of wine – Findekáno barely had room to breathe. The air around him was stiffening hot, and many times he opened the neck of his tunic in an attempt to cool down the stream of sweat that kept running down his spine. However, glancing around, he realized the others looked fine, and his discomfort must be the effect of the fiery combination working from within and without.

At one point, Fëanáro’s knee lightly touched his under the table, and Findekáno jumped in alarm, closing his legs, afraid to trespass his uncle’s space. But Fëanáro seemed unaffected, and in the position he now sat, his knee was pressed against Findekáno’s the whole time. It didn’t matter how much he squirmed in his chair, there was no way out of it – or else he would have to move closer to Maitimo and make it impossible for his cousin to move, not to mention he would give away any attempt at secrecy. As supper went on, the feel of Fëanáro’s knee against his was gentle, like a caress, and once or twice, Findekáno thought he had felt his uncle’s flickering fingers. He breathed in and out, telling himself this was just his feverish imagination, inebriated with closeness and wine.

“Atar, you have to try this,” Maitimo said by his side.

His cousin scooped up a mouthful of the exquisite raspberry tart Pityo had baked and raised it in the air, in Fëanáro’s direction – right under Findekáno’s nose. He didn’t have time to think as his uncle’s head came so close to his face he nearly toppled his chair over. He felt the brush of satiny hair against his cheek, the cinnamon scent that dazed his senses. Fëanáro closed his mouth around the spoon and looked sideways _at him_ , potent gaze piercing inside his very soul.

“Delicious,” Fëanáro purred with a sweep of black lashes.

Findekáno’s sharp intake of breath was audible even for those on the other side of the table, he deemed – but it couldn’t be helped. For the duration of that look, the whole gathering stopped – nay the whole world seemed to stop – and Findekáno felt like his face would finally combust. A millisecond later, they all erupted in the same merry chatter and banter and laughter of before, except Maitimo. His cousin looked at him with an intriguing expression on his fair face, intent and curious.

They stared at each other for a little while, for Findekáno couldn’t bring himself to look at his uncle. His cock had swollen to painful hardness, and the idea of facing Fëanáro like that was enough to make him want to disappear into a hole in the ground or to pounce on his uncle then and there. By Eru, he needed air – a stroll in the garden would be much welcome! He stood up awkwardly and pulled his tunic down to hide his unmistakable arousal, but his movement was too sudden. His hand accidentally hit his uncle’s goblet and spilled its entire content on Fëanáro’s white shirt.

“Manwë’s balls! I’m sorry,” he blushed, looking at the mess on his uncle’s clothes, running to the sink to wet a cloth. 

He came back in a hurry and knelt before Fëanáro, sloshing the cloth where the wine had done more damage. The muscles on his uncle’s stomach contracted with the touch of cold water, and the stained shirt clung unto to Fëanáro’s torso, now completely visible through fabric. _Perfection_ , Findekáno had the time to think. All his mind wanted was to descend upon that body with his mouth and lick it clean. A little too late, Findekáno realized what he was doing, and he halted in mid-action. He looked up and met Fëanáro’s smoldering gaze, fixed on him. He stood up as quickly as he had knelt, flustered, and extended the cloth to his uncle without another word, biting his lip and looking at Maitimo with pleading eyes.

But neither of his cousins saw that interaction; they moved around the table, taking out dirty dishes and putting away food that would be consumed tomorrow. Macalaurë was by the sink, washing, and their talk and laughter hadn’t stopped. Before Findekáno could release the breath he was holding, he glanced back at his uncle and gaped, his fickle heart threatening to hammer its way out of his chest. His uncle stared at the non-too discrete bulge on his breeches and slowly swooped those diamond eyes back at his face, pinning him like a butterfly on a naturalist’s guide.

For a brief moment, Findekáno thought all was lost: Fëanáro would say something about his relationship with his eldest and expose him for the “treacherous Nolofinwëion” he was. Findekáno was certain his uncle would say _something_! Fëanáro, however, remained silent and stared at him enigmatically.

With a feeling of displacement and confusion, Findekáno moistened parched lips and mumbled: “Excuse me.”

He didn’t wait for a reply and ran up to Maitimo’s chambers. He closed himself in the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He didn’t have to wait long before Maitimo stormed inside, calling his name.

“What happened? Father said you looked strange. Is it something you ate?”

The concern in his lover’s voice made him groan out loud.

“Finno?”

“Oh, Maitimo, please forgive me! I am the most devious person in the world,” he hid his face in his hands.

“Won’t you tell me what ails you, my love?” He could hear, more than see, Maitimo’s frown.

“Don’t call me that, although you are and always will be mine!” His voice came muffled. “But I can’t Maitimo, I can’t!” He cried in his desperation and walked back into the room, running trembling hands over his tresses.

“What? Talk to me, Finno,” Maitimo asked, following him.

“I can’t control my body! I can’t! And… and…”

“Yes…?”

“Oh, by the Valar, it is your father! He is to blame for everything!” Findekáno sat on his bed miserably, shoulders slumped against the headboard.

Maitimo was silent. His cousin’s reaction was much more passionate – and much more wretched – than he had foreseen it would be, and for a moment, he worried that maybe lust wasn’t all Findekáno was feeling towards his father. Maitimo sat beside him and took his hands off his face, cradling them on his lap.

“Tell me what happened.”

And Findekáno did. He looked Maitimo in the eyes and spilled it all out, from the day he not-wholly willingly spied on Fëanáro to everything that followed. Maitimo listened quietly with a slight crease on his light-brown brows, while he ran soothing circles with his thumb on Findekáno’s hand. He breathed with relief when the tale was over: his fears were, after all, unfounded.

“I wish you had told me this before,” he said softly once Findekáno was done.

“I know Rusco, and I am sorry. You call me Findekáno Astaldo, but you’re wrong. I’m a bloody coward.”

“You are not a coward, my love,” Maitimo smiled and kissed his knuckles. “You merely feared I would be jealous and mad with you. But your fears were ill-founded, as were mine. I understand the fascination my father can provoke in others. Isn’t he called the greatest of all the Noldor? And he is, in every sense of the word.”

Findekáno breathed loudly, relieved for the first time in many months.

“Not greater than you, Maitimo,” Findekáno muttered, kissing his lover’s hands in return. “If you knew how distressed I was over this…”

“Yes, I’ve seen,” Maitimo laughed softly. “And I admit it was fascinating to watch your pupils blown wide and your flush face glazed with lust for someone else. You are right when you say we must try having Findaráto,” he smirked briefly but continued a second later with more seriousness. “I am sorry if I found it entertaining and arousing both that the looks you slanted today in the market were not directed at me, but at my own father. I didn’t know what had caught your attention, but it’s obvious to anyone with eyes to see that his beauty bewitches and ensnares.”

“You- so the joke was on me? I can’t believe you, Maitimo! Why didn’t you say something?” Findekáno shouted.

“Because I think you would find me very… how should I say this? Agreeable? In fact, I don’t know how you didn’t notice I have been knowingly provoking you all day long,” he finished with an impish smile.

Findekáno opened his mouth and closed it again, astounded.

“You can’t be serious!”

“I am, my love,” and, as a proof of his words, he leaned forward and kissed Findekáno long and lovingly.

“But Rusco,” Findekáno withdrew, “does he know…?”

“About us? Oh, yes, for ages,” Maitimo smiled. “He never said anything to me, but he knows. How could he not? My face can deny nothing when I am with you.”

“Mine can’t either, I guess,” Findekáno smiled and leaned forward to kiss Maitimo back more fiercely. “But how can you be sure your father will, you know…?”

Maitimo paused, lowering his gaze for a moment. “My father is a lonely person, Finno,” he said quietly. “After Mother, he never took a lover – at least not that we know of – and would never trespass on our relationship. But he will gladly welcome the approaches from those whom he loves.”

Findekáno snorted. “Your father, love for me? The son of his thrice hated half-brother?”

“Beloved, oblivious cousin! Do you think my father would allow you inside this house for so long and regard you in such esteem if he didn’t? He loves you, even if it is for my sake. But after today, I can say for certain that your desire is reciprocated.”

Findekáno moistened his lips, unable to hide that he very much wanted what was being freely offered. “This is a bit strange, though,” he admitted. “I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize what we have.”

“You are the two people I love most in the world, Finno. How can I be against it, if you both desire it so much?” He smiled sweetly, then, and Findekáno thought he would burst with an irrepressible love for his cousin – alongside an electrical shot of lust that spiked down his length at the idea that Fëanáro wanted him too.

“Do you think he truly wants me?” Findekáno asked with a childish self-consciousness.

“Who wouldn’t? With those big blue eyes of yours, and this lovely mouth, and your big cock,” Maitimo said between nips, making Findekáno laugh breathlessly, said member throbbing between his legs.

“Well, I just want to make sure this will not harm your feelings, beloved. You must know it is lust, nothing more.”

“I confess I was worried for a split second when I believed you might actually have developed feelings and be in love with him, instead of with me,” Maitimo said. “But I know bette- ooph!”

“No!” Findekáno said fiercely, throwing himself in Maitimo’s arms and crushing their chests, arms circling his neck. “No, Rusco, never! You are the one I love now and forever, and it is you whom I want to marry!” He spluttered.

Both cousins froze for a second, then burst together into giddy laughter. Maitimo gave him a tighter hug and withdrew to look his lover in the eyes.

“Well, if this isn’t the most awkward proposal in the History of Arda,” Maitimo smiled, as Findekáno climbed his lap and straddled him with a wide grin.

“What? I’m not proposing to you! Not like this!” As Maitimo raised his brows in feigned indignation, Findekáno rained kisses on his face. “Of course not, you idiot. I would never do it like this, and certainly not after discussing… well, the things we were discussing. This is just what I desire most,” he looked seriously inside his Maitimo’s pewter depths. “I yearn for the day we will bind our souls.”

“Yes, I do,” Maitimo whispered fervently, holding his face between both hands – his answer was followed by a yelp when Findekáno’s teeth closed around his neck.

“Stop being a goof! ‘Tis the truth!” Findekáno admonished.

“I know, my love. It is my deepest desire also.”

They kissed and breathed in each other’s mouths, foreheads touching. Engulfed by such love, Findekáno had nearly forgotten all about his uncle – until Fëanáro irrupted without preamble in the room, a force of nature turned Elf.

“Nelyo, could you get that article about-” he stopped short, seeing that Findekáno had scrambled off Maitimo’s lap in a hurry.

They all stood motionless for a second. Findekáno, who had refused to look at Fëanáro directly, felt the scorching gaze upon him. When he raised his eyes to his uncle’s, he was struck dumb with what he saw. All he had seen before: anxiousness, longing and – yes, now he recognized it for what it was – an old, unassuaged hunger. Under such powerful scrutiny, Findekáno felt his face on fire. The moment lasted for he knew not how long until his uncle moved to Maitimo’s study without a word. Findekáno lowered his head and let go of the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“What do you need, atar?” Maitimo stood up and walked to his father.

“Hm?” Fëanáro snapped his head up as if his mind had been elsewhere. “That article you wrote about luminescence and its effects when combined with glass and silma.”

Maitimo opened a drawer and retrieved the article, handing it to his father with a kiss to his cheek. Fëanáro blinked, then smiled at his son, and ran a loving thumb over Maitimo’s cheekbone. He glanced briefly at Findekáno and walked away.

When they were alone again, Maitimo pulled him close. “So…” He drawled. “Are you really going to pursue him tonight?” 

Findekáno was glad to hear a note of regret and jealousy in his beloved’s voice. It didn’t matter that Maitimo had blessed and even encouraged the tryst: he didn’t like the feeling of replacing or being replaced. They belonged to one another, and no one else. Things with Fëanáro would have to unfold naturally, he deemed – nothing like the thrilling chase he had on his cousin when he was not yet of age.

“Tonight, my dear Maitimo,” he said, drawing a line of fire with kisses along his cousin’s jaw, from cheekbone to earlobe – and another spike of lust shot through him when he heard Maitimo’s hiss. “I am all yours.”

Maitimo chuckled and blew hot air in his neck, making Findekáno groan. He pulled his younger cousin on top of him. “Well, then, I think it’s up to me to take care of this,” he pressed the palm of his hand on Findekáno’s still-very-much-hard length, and they shared feral grins filled with anticipation.


	3. Chapter 3

As Findekáno had promised himself, he let the subject drop almost entirely. His desire hadn’t waned, nor his ardent dreams lessened, yet he decided that things needed to be treated with greater care regarding his uncle’s seduction. It didn’t matter that Maitimo had reassured time and again that not only he would be alright, but that Fëanáro would actually welcome a night of passion with someone he trusted.

Such as it was, resolved, and with his mind set that it would happen without plan or knowledge of either party, it was much easier to return to his old good-humored and optimistic self. The seducer’s role also suited him better when he was simply himself, and Findekáno was glad to be around his uncle once again without feeling like a helpless virgin.

Oh, he still felt flustered and taken over by blinding lust whenever in Fëanáro’s intimidating presence. But now he used it in his favor, not only to make sure the desire that no doubt leaked from every pore of his being was reflected – and matched – deep inside those perilous diamond-bright eyes. A furious thrill would run down his spine whenever he caught Fëanáro unguarded, watching him and quickly turning his gaze away. 

In fact, it became increasingly fun to observe as mighty Fëanáro lost composure with a sweep of long lashes over indigo-blue eyes, or like that one time his uncle had lost speech – _Fëanáro_ without words! – with the sight of him, naked from the waist up, riding a horse bareback. Not that Findekáno planned any of it. He knew Fëanáro was aware of his desire by now, so their interactions were filled with the unmistakable excitement of two people who wanted the same but waited on the other to act. Findekáno knew Fëanáro would never take the initiative, that it was entirely on his hands – and that sense of power over his stunning uncle exhilarated him even further.

However, a fitting opportunity never came – his uncle’s house was always bustling with people – and they hadn’t gone beyond the flirtatious point. Findekáno rode in and out of Formenos with the same familiarity and frequency, always wondering when he would finally gather up the courage and go to his uncle’s chambers instead of Maitimo’s. But the mere idea of substituting a night with his beloved with any other was absurd, and so Findekáno had waited.

Until, at last, the perfect occasion presented itself. Findekáno rode one morning to the woods closer to his cousin’s home and so decided to stop by, as was his wont – without any further warning, and bringing a bunch of wild strawberries he had picked along the way. There was always someone in Formenos, whether one of the brothers or the apprentices. And his uncle. Fëanáro rarely traveled anymore, preferring the solitude of his forges. Thus, Findekáno was surprised when no one came to greet him as his horse stomped through the gates. 

He took the stallion to the stables, groomed it, and returned with a frown to the unusually empty house. Findekáno ran up to Maitimo’s chambers only to find them empty. The silence didn’t fit well within those walls, and he felt like screaming Maitimo’s name when the kitchen door downstairs creaked open. His heart fluttered, and he smiled, thinking about his cousin’s surprised face when he saw him.

As fate wanted it, Findekáno stopped in his tracks when another pair of surprised eyes looked at him. Fëanáro stood by the sink, washing the wild strawberries Findekáno had brought. He couldn’t help the violent thump from his heart, nor the sudden dryness of his throat. Not only was Findekáno alone with his uncle at long last, but Fëanáro was a vision of sin itself, clad in a simple linen shirt over breeches that might one day have been black, but that now had faded to a dark gray.

Fëanáro’s whole skin glistened, and the clothes clung to his body in damp splotches here and there, accentuating the muscles of his arms, abdomen, back, thighs… in all the right places. The black mane was tied up in a loose, hasty knot, but Findekáno could smell the fragrance of fresh grass and Spring lushness that held on to his uncle’s body like he was some Maiar of the woods. From far away, he wondered at the coincidence of often finding his uncle thus, so stunning when soaked.

At that last thought, Findekáno’s cock stirred, and he forcefully swallowed the hot coal that had lodged in his throat, tongue itching to stick to his uncle’s skin like the water that made him thus tempting. Beams of golden light crept in through the windows above the sink, making Fëanáro glow; the only sound in the kitchen was of running water and Findekáno’s deep intakes of breath. His uncle was the first to break the silence that stretched uncomfortably.

“Findekáno, I didn’t expect you here today,” he said in a melodious voice, returning his attention to the task at hand. “You’ve missed Nelyafinwë for a few hours. He has gone up North to trade supplies and won’t be back until the day after tomorrow.”

His uncle waited as the information sank in. His face probably gave away his disappointment, for he lowered his eyes for a brief moment, chewing on his lower lip. A whiff of strawberries reached his nostrils, and he was brought up to the present. He looked up only to catch a glimpse of Fëanáro’s mouth closing around a piece of fruit – and he couldn’t tell which was more appetizing. Findekáno’s eyes widened, entranced, as the corner of his uncle’s lips tugged up.

“These are excellent. Did you bring them?” He said, picking another from the bowl and repeating the movement that left Findekáno gaping.

He nodded quickly and moistened his lips. Námo’s stick, where was his confidence? This was the moment to be seductive, wasn’t it? So why did he feel like a snail stuck to the ground? Limbs heavy, mouth dry, and eyes wide as platters, hypnotized by such a simple act as eating a strawberry – but oh, it wasn’t just eating, was it? Fëanáro licked his tainted-red lips in a suggestive way that made Findekáno bite back a gasp.

“Have you tasted them? They are truly exquisite,” his uncle said, nibbling on a particularly big strawberry, amused with his nephew’s flushed face. “Come now, Findekáno, there’s no need to look so prudish,” Fëanáro continued after he had chewed and raised his hands to finish the fruit.

Findekáno felt like he was slapped in the face. He needed to do something to take control of the situation and make it on his own terms. It could not be that his uncle had so much power over him! As proof of his own resolve, he crossed the distance that separated them with three long strides and grabbed Fëanáro’s wrist, who widened his eyes and barely had time to think. Findekáno closed his teeth over the strawberry, and the strength of it set a squish of juice down his chin.

Findekáno swallowed and involuntarily brought his uncle’s hand, still tight on his grip, closer to his mouth. Fëanáro’s eyes, inscrutable, held him enthralled as he moved those calloused yet elegant fingers to wipe the place where the juice trickled, then brought them up to his lips with a feathery tickle. Without breaking eye contact, Findekáno parted his lips and let the tip of his tongue graze over the pads, tasting the fruit’s juiciness. Fëanáro draw in a sharp breath, and Findekáno seized the opportunity to slide the fingers slowly inside his mouth, licking and sucking at them.

He distinctly heard Fëanáro sigh, almost a soft moan. “Beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on him with a mix of astonishment and raging desire. 

That was enough to set the fire in Findekáno’s blood into an inferno. He boldly grabbed the back of Fëanáro’s head, crushing their mouths together, and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the reaction in his uncle’s face – and so he missed how Fëanáro’s eyes flashed with both wonderment and blazing lust. Findekáno ran his tongue over strawberry-tasting lips, and they parted for him. Fëanáro flung one arm around Findekáno’s waist, hard chests meeting, and brought their bodies even closer.

There was no gentleness, no careful exploration as Findekáno plundered the velvety cave. Fëanáro tangled his fingers in his nephew’s messy tresses, tugging and tilting his head into a better position. Findekáno let a muffled sigh out, melting inside the strong arms like water. He dug his fingers in his uncle’s back, feeling the muscles, the enticing broadness of the body underneath. Soon they both panted through their noses, and Findekáno – although quite incapable of believing in what he was doing – pressed the painful evidence of his masculinity against his uncle’s thigh. As the movement tore a gasp from Fëanáro’s lungs and their mouths parted, Findekáno swayed forward in complete dizziness.

“Valiant, indeed,” Fëanáro’s hot breath whispered over his mouth – the breathlessness in his uncle’s voice and the blackness of his pupils, almost engulfing the diamond silver of his eyes, made Findekáno double over with the spike of lust that shot through him, length achingly stiff.

They breathed in the space between their mouths, bodies still pressed together, the heat from Fëanáro’s body searing through obstructive fabric. Findekáno vaguely wondered how their clothes hadn’t caught fire yet, but every other thought was swept away when Fëanáro rolled his hips and pressed his own iron-hard shaft against Findekáno’s, who gasped helplessly and snapped his lips shut to hold the whimper that caught in his throat. 

“Why?” He managed to ask at last. When his uncle merely frowned, he asked again: “Why me?”

Fëanáro thought for a second on his answer. “Because you are willing. Because Nelyo loves you, and after the quite irresistible way you expressed your want, you might say my curiosity was piqued. I wanted to know what has captured my eldest’s attention so thoroughly. And also…” he made a pause and smirked, “because I don’t tend to let people, especially naughty nephews, spy on me and get away with it.”

“No, I-” Findekáno gasped, alarmed, and meant to step away from Fëanáro, but the other held him tightly in place. His uncle chuckled and kissed Findekáno’s neck.

“Shh, it’s alright, there’s no need to deny it,” Fëanáro’s breath misted over his skin. “I hadn’t expected an audience, but you really caught me off-guard, Findekáno. And your reaction to that was… so very alluring,” Fëanáro’s lips and tongue traveled up and down his bared throat, and Findekáno couldn’t hold back anymore. He tipped his head back, exposing the abused flesh even further to those flaming lips and moaned with abandon. “Hm, yes. You are most beautiful like this.”

“Like what?” Findekáno breathed, bringing his eyes to those bright diamonds.

“Flushed and burning with desire,” Fëanáro traced light fingers down to his groin but never fully touching.

Findekáno groaned and captured that enticing mouth again in a fierce kiss, forgetting all about explanations, whys, and whatnot. He pushed Fëanáro against the counter and pulled the linen shirt up with both hands, desperately seeking contact, and traveled his hands on that spectacular torso like he was molding clay. Fëanáro brought the shirt up and tossed it away. His uncle’s body was perfection; it invited the eyes and the mouth, and Findekáno feasted.

He greedily drank that sight that had tormented him for so long as his fingers expertly caressed every muscle, sinew, and curve. He knew Fëanáro’s eyes fasted on him, but he was drunk. When he brought his mouth to close over a nipple, and Fëanáro moaned low, his length throbbed so heavily he felt fluid started to leak from the tip. He fumbled with the laces of Fëanáro’s breeches and pushed them down, going to his knees and taking him in his mouth.

His eagerness to taste the hot column of flesh was such that Findekáno teased very little, sucking at the tip a few times and then taking it at once to the back of his throat. Fëanáro cried out in surprise – it was all so quick he didn’t even have the time to tell his nephew to wait. But as he was enveloped by wetness heat, the words dissolved in his mind, and there was only overflowing pleasure. Strong, swift strokes soon had Fëanáro gasping for air, legs trembling. 

Fëanáro’s fingers had curled on Findekáno’s tresses, and every dart of the tongue made him tighten the grip. Fëanáro didn’t force him down, but followed the movement of the bobbing head, shifting the position of his hand here and there in rough caresses.

“Findeka- ah – wait! Wait!” Fëanáro tugged his hair with a little more strength, and he was pulled off the throbbing length. His uncle breathed hard, looking down at him with wild eyes. “Not here. Come,” he panted and helped Findekáno up, gathering his clothes and beckoning him to the stairs.

Findekáno was so lost to his desires that he didn’t even realize he was already inside Fëanáro’s chamber when the door closed behind him. His uncle all but pounced on him, banging his back against the wood and rolling his hips with such force that it almost hurt. Findekáno yelped in surprise, and Fëanáro stuck his tongue inside his mouth, opening him up for a savage kiss that made his jaws ache. In the blink of an eye, he was already half-naked – when had his uncle unlaced both tunic and breeches? It didn’t matter, for Fëanáro’s assault was brutal, and Findekáno relished it.

“My turn, pretty one,” Fëanáro husked and, to Findekáno’s great awe, went to his knees. 

The sight of his mighty uncle before him was overwhelming. When his hardness was enveloped by Fëanáro’s red-bitten lips, his veins became molten lava. He cried out and pressed his hands flat against the door, fearing that if he took control of that head, he would ride it with abandon.

Findekáno gasped, light-headed, but couldn’t close his eyes: Fëanáro’s mouth sliding over him was much more than he had ever dreamed of. His hips jerked forward slightly, unable to withstand sheer pressure. As he was about to close his eyes and give in, he felt Fëanáro reaching for one of his hands and placing it on the top of his head. Findekáno’s breath caught as his fingertips unloosened the knot and let the flow of pitch-black hair fall over naked shoulders.

Fëanáro withdrew just a fraction. “You want to do it, then do it. I can take it,” he said with a wicked smile. 

Findekáno felt the pearly beads moistening the tip of his hardness as he began to spill and, as Fëanáro took him back, he grasped that magnificent head between his hands and rode that sweet mouth, driving in and out with deep thrusts – until Fëanáro swirled his tongue and Findekáno buried himself to the back of his throat with a shout. Ecstasy shot through him like lightning; his orgasm left him boneless, and motes of light danced before his closed lids.

Fëanáro curled his legs around his waist and lifted him up gently, and Findekáno was taken by another swoon at the strength of his uncle’s arms. He was laid down in bed, facing eyes so bright they were almost impossible to look at. Fëanáro kissed his neck tenderly, moving his mouth in tender caresses, waiting for him to regain consciousness. He whined softly with the touch of hot lips on his cool flesh. Findekáno opened his eyes to the refreshing touch of silky hair on his chest and stomach.

“That was…” He let out a breathless laugh. “I am sorry if I hurt you.”

Fëanáro smiled. “You haven’t,” his voice sounded just a bit croaked, and Findekáno bit his lips with apprehension. “It was my pleasure also, Finno,” he said softly. It was the first time in his life his uncle called him thus, and he felt it was appropriate, after the nameless things they had just done. Fëanáro moved on top of him to kiss him, and he welcomed his weight, opening his legs and feeling the iron-hard length pressed against his stomach – not surprisingly, he felt himself stir again.

“Fëanáro,” he whispered when teeth closed on his shoulder, “I want to…” but Fëanáro withdrew so quickly that the words escaped him. 

There was something in his eyes, a flash of defiance that made Findekáno swallow whatever he was about to say. Of course, his uncle would not let just anyone take him – and, truth be told, the thought hadn’t even crossed Findekáno’s mind. He wanted to worship that body, not master it. Somehow, he felt that that task was not his, but somebody else’s. To break the deadlock, he closed his fingers around the hot column of flesh, and Fëanáro relaxed a little.

“I will lie if I say it would not bring me great pleasure to take you, uncle. But that’s not what I want,” he said, craning his neck to lick that sinful mouth that opened for his probing.

“How do you want it?” Fëanáro whispered, unable to hide his breathlessness anymore.

“Let me ride you,” he said, stroking the shaft harder.

Fëanáro’s eyes glazed over with lust, and he sighed, moving his hip in tandem with the hand that coaxed him. Without warning, he turned onto his back, erection jutting darkly against alabaster skin.

“Come on, then. Ride.”

The sight, the command, and the sheer beauty of the Elf beside him were nearly too much for the senses. Spellbound, Findekáno reached for his length and tug it a few times. He came on top, straddling Fëanáro, and rocked his hip, so the two throbbing shafts pulsed maddeningly against one another. Findekáno dipped his head down and kissed those luscious lips, drinking his gasps.

“I think you know where I keep oil?” Fëanáro asked with a smile on his eyes.

Findekáno bit his lower lip and stretched to the night table where his uncle kept a vial inside the drawer. He opened it with a tremulous hand, Fëanáro coated his fingers and passed it back. Expectantly, Findekáno dropped a little onto his palm and started rubbing Fëanáro’s hardness slowly. His uncle moaned softly and propped himself up to capture his mouth in a long, searing kiss, his length crushed against that flat stomach, while deft fingers undid any coherence left in his brain. Too soon was Findekáno pushing back and pleading.

“I’m ready! Now, _please_!”

Fëanáro withdrew his fingers and positioned himself. Findekáno couldn’t wait any longer. He slid down in one motion that made them both cry out. Struggling to gather his breath, Findekáno ignored the pain – it stung, but it was _so good_!He withdrew and slid back down, making Fëanáro growl. Once he had been so thoroughly filled, breached until he could almost feel his uncle’s length hitting his throat, Findekáno was utterly lost. The cadence took them both, and all they could think of was the frantic race towards the abyss.

Fëanáro slammed his hips up, and Findekáno forced himself further down, and he swam in a pool of liquid fire; it was within him, and all he could do was take it deeper, deeper until he felt all his insides burning. Both of his hands pressed his uncle’s chest for support, and his hardness ached and leaked when Fëanáro brought his head down to bite his lip. He cried out, blissful anguish thundering in his ears as he tottered on the brink for a few seconds. 

Findekáno’s cock, trapped between them, exploded in an all-consuming orgasm that made him whimper and pulse with every flaying never of his body. Fëanáro threw his head back and let the contracting muscles take him to the end: an ecstatic cry broke from his lungs, and as Findekáno felt hot seed shot through him, he felt another wave of pleasure and moaned as their bodies throbbed agonizingly with the aftershocks.

Findekáno rested his forehead on Fëanáro’s collarbone, pouring hot breath over damp skin, feeling his uncle’s heart slow down from its frenetic pace. Fëanáro lazily buried a fist on his hair, massaging his scalp, while the other hand ran gentle movements on his flank. At last, Findekáno raised his head and met his uncle’s sated eyes and languorous smile – that might have reflected his own, for Fëanáro tilted his chin up delicately and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. Carefully, they disentangled, groaning with the loss.

Findekáno fell on his back with a content sigh: “Oh, that was _superb._ ”

Fëanáro laughed softly. “Yes, quite.”

Findekáno turned his head to look at the peaceful, stunning profile, softened by sex. Fëanáro still smiled, and Findekáno couldn’t help but marvel at the unspeakable things they had just done. Fëanáro slanted his eyes to his nephew, and his smile widened.

“You were very generous, Finno. Thank you for giving this to me. I don’t think you realize how much I needed it,” he brushed his thumb over Findekáno’s cheek lovingly, and Findekáno felt his heart clench. 

“Fëanáro, I…” He frowned and chewed on his lower lip – a mania that was most endearing.

“You can speak freely. After today, I grant you that liberty,” he said with amusement in his eyes.

“I think you are far too lonely,” Findekáno spluttered at last. “I wanted you, of course, but you know I belong to Maitimo, and he to me.”

Fëanáro smiled kindly and nodded. “I would never come between you.”

“Yet you need someone. It is written in your eyes and speaks through your touch.” Fëanáro frowned and moved his gaze, as if deep in thought. “Everybody needs love. And I think…” he stopped again like he was asking permission. Fëanáro turned his eyes back on him again, and they were not perilous anymore, just interested. “I think I know the reason for your loneliness.”

Fëanáro’s brows shot up, amused. “Do you now?”

“Yes! And what’s more, I think I can help you.”

“You have already helped me, Finno.”

“Not just today! And I don’t mean myself – although I wouldn’t complain or deny you because, frankly, who could?” He quipped, and Fëanáro laughed out loud.

“Do you have a plan, then?”

“It’s not exactly mine. It was Maitimo’s idea, but…” he moistened his lips. “He is right. I think you will find that the other part is far more interested than it seems.”

Fëanáro looked at Findekáno with a glint in his eyes, then propped himself in one elbow, fair head resting on a fist and cascading the black, loose mane of hair underneath. The whole Blessed Realm could crumble with that vision, and Findekáno was not quite ready to let it go just yet. His wantonness might have shown, for Fëanáro’s lips curved up, tantalizing, and he brushed his fingers on the angry teeth marks at his throat inflicted during their lovemaking.

“May I ask of whom you speak?”

“Oh, I think you know…” it was Findekáno’s turn to smirk. “But perhaps we can finish this conversation later?” He ran a hand on the other’s flank, scalding hot and smooth like marble.

Fëanáro chuckled and swept his eyes over Findekáno’s body, noticing with delight how his cock stood at attention once more.

“I understand Maitimo’s fascination now.”

“I am ready when you are,” smiled, fisting his uncle’s hardness.

“Ah, Finno, you will learn I am _always_ ready.”

Instead of pouncing on him as he had expected, Fëanáro stood up and walked around the bed to a great mirror by the wall. He turned the glass to reflect a specific spot on the bed, sat down facing it, legs spread, and stroked himself languidly. Findekáno didn’t have to be told twice. He scrambled up to straddle his uncle, but Fëanáro placed both fiery hands on his hips.

“Turn around, beauty. I want you to watch as you come undone.” Findekáno obliged, his heart thrumming in his chest eagerly.

Findekáno balanced himself on his uncle’s thighs and pushed down, taking it all in one bold move that made him hiss in pain. 

“Ah, you are still so wonderfully tight,” Fëanáro groaned, and let him adjust, pressing his chest against Findekáno’s broad back – the body of a grown, handsome elf, not some youngling, he reminded himself once more. He gave open-mouthed kisses on Findekáno’s shoulder blades, the base of his neck, biting softly on salty flesh.

As their eyes met in the mirror, Findekáno gasped, and his cock twitched. Fëanáro closed his fingers around it and stroked him slowly, teeth closing over his shoulder. He thrust up once and tore a throaty moan out of him.

“Yes – _ah!_ – yes! Don’t spare me!”

His uncle all but growled in response, teasing his nipples until aching hardness, and thrusting so deep that Findekáno’s head fell to his chest, completely overcome with pleasure. But Fëanáro didn’t seem to be for any more games. He tugged Findekáno’s hair back and, propped in his elbow, delivered a maddening pace. Across the mirror and from under half-closed lust-fogged lids, their gazes locked.

If it was possible, the intensity of the thrusts increased and nearly split Findekáno in two. He moaned with abandon as the storm brewed, and lightening seared him to the ground. Fire pooled inescapably to his groin and built – and then, length untouched, it broke in wave after wave of an orgasm so intense it left him deaf and blind, his keen cry so loud it made his throat hoarse. He knew his uncle had climaxed, his insides coated with seed so hot it scorched him anew. Findekáno’s entire body throbbed, and he moaned with the sheer force of it.

From far away, he felt Fëanáro’s arms envelop him in a weak hug, forehead pressed on his shoulder, breath coming hot and fast. He could feel his uncle’s heart thundering through their bodies, and those pulses reverberated pleasantly in and out.

“You are beautiful, so very beautiful…” Fëanáro murmured faintly on his back.

Findekáno felt an uncomfortable tightening in his chest, like that praise wasn’t directed at him (though it was for him), but to somebody else – the person that haunted his uncle’s fantasies. If this was whom he suspected it was (and they – Maitimo and he – were 99% sure), and this someone had always stood aloof and seemed above such appetites, Findekáno could understand his uncle’s reluctance.

Fëanáro gently raised them both from the bed, and, as they lost intimate contact, his uncle huffed with laughter.

“I had just gotten out of the river when you found me, but I think I need another bath. And you do too. You’re free to join me if you want.” To Findekáno’s renewed surprise, Fëanáro kissed his brow with infinite tenderness.

“I’ll wait here,” he replied softly, leaning back in the pillows with a lazy, well-spent smile. “Although you might want to burn these sheets later.” 

His uncle merely laughed and entered the bathroom. Findekáno dozed off for a while. When he opened his eyes again, Fëanáro laid by his side still gloriously naked – but now clean – with a fresh scent of soap, an arm under his head, and a hand idly stroking Findekáno’s hair. 

“There you are,” Fëanáro smiled. “Thought I was going to have to bathe you myself.”

“Oh… how long was I out?” He looked through the window and realized the light was fading.

“A few hours. I have prepared water for you, but it must be tepid by now.”

“Hum, that will be nice, thank you. I think a cool bath will soothe what hurts most.”

“I am not quite sorry about that,” Fëanáro chuckled. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere?” Findekáno answered, and they both laughed.

“Go on. I have a salve that will help when you come out.”

His uncle was right: the bath was blessedly cool, and the salve relieved the sorest parts of his lower back. He settled in bed when, for once, comfortable silence befell them. Findekáno smiled for the little affectionate touches that were pleasant but not enough to make of that relationship more than it was.

“Thank you,” Findekáno said after a while. Fëanáro’s questioning eyes fell on him. “For letting me do this.”

“I told you I wanted it too.”

“Yes, but you see… when you have a fantasy that stalks you for so long, it is double the pleasure to finally get to realize it,” he finished with a cheeky smile.

“What exactly are you trying to tell me, Findekáno?” Fëanáro laughed once more.

He paused, assessing the level of his bravery. “With whom did you fantasize when you took me?

Fëanáro’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move his gaze away. “You know with whom.”

“What if I told you I think he feels the same for you?”

Fëanáro’s eyes widened. A thousand thoughts flickered over his starry eyes: aloofness, haughtiness, pride, jealousy, lust, maybe even hatred… But was it hate indeed?

“You _think_?”

Findekáno laughed. “We strongly believe that, yes.”

“What do you propose?”

Findekáno sat up, visibly excited. “It’s his begetting day next month.”

“I know,” Fëanáro murmured softly, and the longing in his voice was not lost to Findekáno.

“Maitimo and I have thought of a fantastic gift, in which we would merely be the bridge and help.”

Fëanáro’s brows rose with curiosity. “And what would that gift be?”

Findekáno beamed him a dazzling smile. “Yourself.”

***

Two days later, Maitimo returned from the North with enough supplies to last till Spring. He could hear muffled voices and laughter from where he stood outside the door, and he vaguely wondered how many of his brothers were home. But as he entered the kitchen, he found himself staring at people he loved the most laughing over glasses of brandy. Maitimo didn’t need to ask, for it was all but written in their faces: sated looks and a familiarity that didn’t exist before. He wanted to be jealous, but his heart thought otherwise. Seeing his father cheerful again was enough, even if the shadows behind his eyes were not completely gone.

A second later, he was crushed into an embrace. His beloved nearly knocked the breath out of him, nose buried on his neck, inhaling deeply. “I have missed you, my love,” Findekáno was saying.

He chuckled and hugged him back. “Hello, Finno! I missed you, too.”

Findekáno withdrew and, to Maitimo’s utter surprise, kissed him full in the mouth. He could do little but to return the passionate kiss, while his eyes searched for his father. But Fëanáro had stood up, got another glass, and was pouring him a shot of liquor. When Findekáno’s mouth left him, he looked at his smiling lover, who handed him the glass. Maitimo didn’t doubt: he took the cup and drained it. The road had been chilling, as the air of autumn already showed signs of the upcoming winter winds.

“Sit, Nelyo. I’ve made soup.”

“Of course you have,” Maitimo teased, knowing his father could barely wait for winter to start making hot courses, the ones he favored. However, before he sat down, Maitimo crossed the kitchen to his father’s figure in front of the stove and hugged him, arms lacing around his waist.

“Hello, atar,” his voice came muffled, buried on Fëanáro’s neck.

Fëanáro grinned and caressed his arms. “Hello, my love. So bad was the journey that you missed me?”

“I always miss you. But yes, I was terribly lonely. And I can tell you have had far too much fun while I was sweating my ass out there.”

“Well, we kind of were in here, too,” Findekáno mumbled low, but they both heard it, and Fëanáro burst into a peal of laughter.

“Finno, I can’t believe you! Making jokes and all!” Maitimo still couldn’t be mad, and he giggled. This was so much better than the cold relationship they had before! He sat down on the table, and Fëanáro kissed the top of his head before putting a steaming plate in front of him.

“Rusco, your father and I have news,” Findekáno smiled and looked at Fëanáro expectantly.

“Yes. I have decided to go on with your crazed plan.”

“Really?” Maitimo looked from one to the other, and both nodded. He huffed a laugh. “Great news, indeed!” Especially because that meant his father wouldn’t focus all that raw energy on his beloved, but on the one who truly deserved and craved for it.

“So,” Fëanáro straddled a chair and grinned slyly at them. “What is the plan to seduce my half-brother?”


End file.
